


The Post-Game - tales of what happens after the fact.

by hipster_justice



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipster_justice/pseuds/hipster_justice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rumor, that purportedly began with the infamous 1025 group, has been spread around the various residents of Paradox Space. Said rumor began with an ill fated assumption: If the game gave you the means to achieve god-hood, why wouldn't it give you a world to be deity over? Now, I certainly won't go on record saying that the conclusion wasn't relatively well warranted, or that the truth has any real evidence towards it's own existence, but what I certainly will advocate is that there is somewhere past that fated door. Somewhere that, in my own opinion, is the most glorious thing in all of Paradox Space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Post-Game - tales of what happens after the fact.

**Author's Note:**

> ok yeah this is probs terrible and embarrassing, but w/e. at the very least i can identify how terrible i am at writing!!

A boy arrives stumbling onto a massive plateu, and in his immediate cone of vision he sees only one, massive, monolithic object. That object, of course, being a massive message board, with fliers and adviertisements plastered over the entirety of it's immense height and width. The boy himself is currently of no real importance to much of anything, but like all protagonists innocently indocrinated into being manipulated by an author (such as myself,)  he is destiny-bound for greatness. Albeit a tragic greatness. 

 

The huge message board catches the boy's eye (Ohohoh, quite the joke there!) and using his one good leg, hobbles over to the side closest to himself. He figures that he should get a good look around his new surrounding, and what he found shocked his currently frail body to it's core. Behind him was a... portal of sorts, 1000 times larger than the board, and it glowed a sensory-killing array of technicolour throw-up at his face. He shyed away for a moment, and then resumed his stunned gaze. Upon closer inspection it was determined that said portal had to have been the one he was thrown out of not a moment, prior, and furthermore he found that tens of thousands of similiar people flew in and out of the structure with a grace that he could only dream of seeing in himself. It appeared from his analysis that this portal was some sort of gate used to travel between destinations, further supported by his curious inspection of the two remaining directions outlying to him that many of these gates were present in a sort-of ring around the center of the... city? He supposed as much, based on the evidence given to him by his speed-analysis of his situation. 

 

Speaking of this boy's peculier way of framing his current situation, I suppose I should give you an introduction to the boy. His name is Gary Wilson, the only notable characteristic about him are his debilitating limp (caused by an almost-on-purpose-fall as a very young child,) his often broken set of glasses, and the obnoxious walking stick he insists on carrying around for some strange and outlandish reason. Certainly not one I could diagnose. He has messy, unkempt, and often gaudy, hair. Which of course is coloured in the most obnoxious colour of them all: _dirty blonde_. And he wears approximately one t-shirt and jacket no matter where he goes, the shirt emblazoned in teal with what he calls his "honorific," a question mark, of all things. How he arrived here, though, is a tale for a much later time. So 'later' that I probably shouldn't have mentioned it at all! 

 

Returning to Mr. Wilson's confusing predicament, he speaks with a few people that seemed to know what they're doing, and surprisingly enough on of them decided to help the poor boy. One such person, who we shall name HELPER for the sake of clarity, asks Gary a few preliminary questions about himself, things involving his status as a 'mid-gamer' as HELPER himself had phrased it. HELPER eventually garnered a few key facts about the wimpering ninny that began requesting so much of such a busy HELPER, the key facts being Gary's status as a Sage of Doom (for clarity, a sage is for all intents an purposes a male seer,) his gimped leg, and his strangely alluring fascination with the mysterious. (And by alluring I mean alluring in the opposing direction, as in alluring me to everything else) HELPER points to a dingy flie(y)r. On the fli(y)er is an advertisement for the "League of Brilliance!" I'll go ahead and quote the rest verbatim, nothing if not for the sake of my own lacking clerical skills.

 

>  _  
>  League of Brilliance!   
> _
> 
> _Here at the LoB any sort of mystery solver, law-bringer, or research... searcher can rise to the highest echelons of society!_
> 
>  _Watch as your loved ones respect you, your lovers swoon over you, and your partners adore your every move!_
> 
>  _Join today!_

Much to the chagrin of our hero Gary, his broken glasses prevented his failing sight from reading the rest of the poster. Luckily, though, in the mind of enterprising little Gary those three sentences were all he needed to decide to join this so-called "League of Brilliance." So he tore the paper off from the message board, turned to HELPER and requested directions to the residence of this place. HELPER chuckled and pointed him in a direction that HELPER referred to as 'North.' Or somesuch. With a smile, Gary runs off in the north direction. Hoping to find a place in what he believes to be the largest city ever. I sincerely wish that I, as omnipresent narrator, could guarantee the boy that safety. If only to quell his insatiable excitement.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for taking the time out of your precious day to grace my ridiculous rambling paragraphs that i seem to call a 'story' with a read. btw, please feel free to remind me how insufferably bad it is, it would do well to cut up the ego i somehow have amassed amid my dreary little life. or whatever. that just sounded depressing.
> 
> P.S. spelling and me are a lot like riding a drunken bull, while also drunk. which is to say largely unsatisfying


End file.
